


I don't want to be Scrooge!

by Belsmomaus



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A Bit of Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Swearing, adult!Tony, kid!Tony, little bit Pepperony, the other Avengers have tiny little cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-12 20:52:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5680420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belsmomaus/pseuds/Belsmomaus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony is sick.<br/>And Howard isn’t aware of the problem. Let alone does he know that HE is the problem. Until he gets some familiar visitors who take it upon themselves to rub his nose right in it.<br/>Not too gently, of course. </p><p>(like the title promises, this is an MCU take on the well-known theme from "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [One of Those Days](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038183) by [kerravon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerravon/pseuds/kerravon). 



> I read “One of Those Days” by kerravon last week (amazing story by the way) and one scene with Howard’s reaction to a sick Tony as well as one special sentence didn’t let me rest.  
> Until a day later this idea was born and again a few days later this fic was born. I’ve never written something this long in so short a time. I’m still a bit amazed about that. 
> 
> I’ve also never written Howard or Peggy or Jarvis before, so… I hope I did them justice.
> 
> The story takes place around 1978, which would (according to my research) make Tony 8 and Howard 60 and Jarvis most likely a few years older than Howard. I knew that, nonetheless I couldn’t help but have Dominic Cooper and James D’Arcy in my mind while writing this. I certainly didn't mind :)

 

“FUCK!”

With one quick jerk of his arm he whipped everything currently placed on his desk off. Plans, equations, pencils, stacks of paper, even his glass of bourbon which crashed into a thousand shards while the expensive liquid soaked into the array of documents.

Howard Stark couldn’t care less.

“WHY?” he shouted at nothing in particular until his gaze caught on the bulky computer. He smacked his flat hand against it once, then twice, punishing the piece of machinery for something it had no part in.

With a last kick against the desk he pushed away and rubbed his hands over his face and through his hair.

_Maybe I should take a nap. Or a shower._

Showers always helped him think for some reason. Yeah, he’d take a shower, he could still sleep later on the plane. He heaved a sigh and finally left his workshop to trudge up the stairs, stretching his stiff and aching shoulders along the way.

It had been some really trying – and tiring – days. He’d been working non-stop on a new grenade prototype – the demonstration at the base of his army liason had been yesterday morning and of course it had been a huge success. Production had been initiated immediately. Then S.H.I.E.L.D. had called. There’d been an expedition to Slovenia a week ago after one of their groups had stumbled upon a really old and abandoned Hydra base. He’d been adamant about joining that operation as soon as the cataloguing of their findings had been finished, feeling like indulging in a bit of nostalgia. His flight had been supposed to leave this weekend. But obviously they’d found something interesting. Some artifact that emitted strange energy readings; strange enough that they warranted an earlier visit of their best scientist. He’d checked up on all the data they’d collected so far and sent his preliminary assessment back – God, he couldn’t wait to get his hands on that thing!

Nonetheless the agents on site needed more time to secure the area, some problems with the locals he’d been told. Therefore they’d arranged a flight for him this evening. Unfortunately that had left him with no excuse to skip last night’s official Stark Industries Gala. Well, the excellent drinks and the company of two very attractive party guests had made the evening that much more bearable.

A cheeky smile crept onto his lips as he remembered the lovely freckles on the shoulders of the sassy redhead. But thinking about her led him back to her friend, the brunet with the amazing green eyes, and his smile faltered into something far more irritated and angry. It had been something completely random, a comment about her hairdresser or something, that had sparked an idea in his mind for a project that has vexed him ever since he’d started it over ten years ago. For he knew it was brilliant and revolutionary but it only worked on a baseline level, nothing special, because he just couldn’t figure out how to implement its full potential.

Last night he’d therefore left the party on short notice and set all notions of going to bed to naught. Instead he went to his workshop to play with that idea, hoping it would bring the solution to unlock the arc-reactor’s full potential. Yet all he got was a computer that was too slow to keep up with his mind and equations that just didn’t want to work out.

Nothing but frustration and failure!

_Maybe 48 hours – or is it 58? – without any sleep really isn’t helping the gray cells…_

Finally he reached the upper floor and headed towards his bedroom, longing for the hot spray of water, that would await him in the adjoining bathroom. He couldn’t wait for the soft massage of his sore back and neck. That’s when Jarvis stepped out of Tony’s room, an empty tray in his hands and a frown on his usually stoic face.

_Perfect! Jarvis, just who I need!_

“Oh, um, good morning, Sir. I didn’t realize the party was an all-night-event. I presume you enjoyed yourself, Sir?”

Confused for a second, Howard blinked before his tired and distracted mind caught on again. He still wore the three-piece suit he’d donned for the party and Jarvis had already retired for the night as he’d come back. Of course his butler thought he’d just gotten home now.

“It wasn’t, I- spent the night working downstairs.”

Jarvis gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I see.”

“Well, it’s good that you’re here, though. I could really need a cup of coffee. A strong one. Oh, and come to think of it, something to eat as well. Whatever’s there. Just not that strange cheese from last time, it’s disgusting. Maybe a sandwich? Yeah, sandwich sounds good. With bacon. But not the floppy kind. I want my bacon crisp! Just- put it in the workshop. I’ll only be a moment to get a shower.”

“Of course, Sir.”

He just waved his hand at the butler as he walked away towards-

_Wait a moment! A tray? Why would he need a tray in Tony’s room for tidying up and making his bed?_

Turning around abruptly and crossing the distance with two steps he startled Jarvis who was about to close the door. A curious and somehow wary expression on his face.

Howard narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Jarvis? What’s up with the tray?”

The other man straightened and looked down at him, matter-of-factly. “I was merely using it to bring up some tea for Master Anthony.”

_I knew it! What the hell is the boy doing at home?_

“And why would he need tea if he’s _supposed to be at school_?” he asked, getting louder at the end so the boy would be able to hear him through the still open door.

“Sir, Master Anthony is unwell. School has sent him back home yesterday and since he hasn’t improved so far I decided to let him stay at home to rest further since you weren’t available,” Jarvis answered in his usual efficient monotone, although Howard thought he might detect a hint of reproach in his voice.

“That’s not your decision to make, Jarvis, and you know it!” he shot back, voice raised. “And why didn’t you ask Maria?”

As soon as he said it he knew how stupid that was. Maria would’ve done the same. They let the boy get away with way too much nonsense. Both of them. How was Tony supposed to become a man, a real Stark, if he was pampered all the way?

“Because Mrs. Stark left two days ago to help out her cousin after the sudden death of her husband. She’s not to be expected back before the end of next week, Sir.”

 _Dammit, that was_ this _week? I could’ve sworn that was_ ages _ago! Did Maria really tell him about it just a few days ago?_

The unresolved fury over his continuing failure at solving the arc-reactor problem came back with a vengeance now, incited again by his wife’s absence ( _She can’t just run off and leave me to deal with everything, for fuck’s sake!_ ), his butler’s insolence ( _What is he thinking, meddling with my parenting like that and turning my son into a wuss?_ ), but most of all by Tony’s playing the sick-card!

_If he’s thinking he can get away with that just because he’s got Jarvis wrapped around his little finger and because his father’s soon away to Europe he’s a fool!_

Completely ignoring Jarvis’ comment about Maria’s whereabouts he raised his voice yet another notch to make sure that it not only carried all the way into the boy’s room but that it was clear from his tone alone that he wouldn’t allow any disobedience.

“You’re going back to school tomorrow! You hear me, Tony? There’s no more dawdling away your time in bed. No more whining to Jarvis about feeling unwell. What were you thinking acting up like that at school? I taught you better than that! Never show weakness in front of others! You’re a Stark! And Starks are made of iron! Never forget that!”

With that said he shot Jarvis a last heated look, opting to not act on that simmering anger he could see beneath his butler’s stoic façade, because besides everything Jarvis had stayed loyally at his side for seemingly forever and that still counted for something.

The quiet of the shower calmed his temper in the end, or maybe it was the soothing effect of the hot water. Whatever it was, it worked and turned his mind back on its original track: equations that didn’t work out for some reason.

He changed into some casual clothes – loose fitting slacks and a thin turtleneck sweater, things he only ever wore at home while tinkering in his workshop – and headed back down into his refuge to tackle the problem anew. There were still some hours left before he had to get ready for his flight.

A cup of steaming black coffee and a bacon sandwich waited for him on his desk. The mess he’d left on the floor was also cleaned away and the soiled papers were spread out on his work bench to dry.

 

 

_This could actually work!_

If he decreased the infusion rate and...

“You shouldn’t be here.”

With a loud gasp Howard startled, inadvertently shoving the empty cup of coffee from his desk with a flailing arm. One hand pressed over his franticly beating heart he took a second to gather his wits again.

“Dammit Jarvis, can’t you knock or something?”

“You have forgotten.”

“Huh?” He quickly checked his watch to make sure that he hadn’t missed his flight – he had no idea how long he’d been down here, working. 11:20am. It wasn’t even midday for crying out loud!

“Forgotten? What did I forget? There’s nothing scheduled for today apart from the flight to- what the- oh crap!”

The hands on his watch weren’t moving. Not even the second hand.

_What a great day for a broken watch! Why is everyone and everything set on pissing me off today???_

“Jarvis? What time is it?”

“Time to remember.”

He rolled his eyes. He really hadn’t time for this cryptic nonsense. Or his butler acting up in general.

“Jarvis, I’m really not in the mood-“

He pushed his chair back to turn around properly when whatever he’d been about to say just died on his lips, leaving nothing but a blank space. This wasn’t possible. There, only three steps away stood Jarvis. But not _his_ Jarvis. Well, of course his Jarvis, but not the one from _right now_. He was looking at a significantly younger version of his butler. Hair still brown, no crinkles in his face apart from some laughter lines around his eyes – he’d always wondered where he’d gotten those since he almost never saw the man laugh.

_Okay, that’s it. You’re hallucinating. You’re definitely awake too long!_

“Um,” he stammered, unsure how to react.

Squeezing his eyes together and opening them again didn’t help. Neither did rubbing them or pinching his own arm. Nothing. He’d really been hoping he’d just fallen asleep and was dreaming.

“I can assure you, you’re not dreaming, Sir.”

Howard laughed. Confused and desperate to work this out, but unwilling to show it.

“Yeah, great. Which means I’ve either missed that it’s April Fools’ Day and you’ve went to incredible lengths to pull one over on me or you’re my brain telling me that it really needs some sleep! Either way,” he pushed himself up and raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, “I’m out of here!”

Seriously, this was freaking him out. He’d heard about stuff like that but his own mind had never let him down before. He was a genius after all. And now a _hallucination_?

_I just need to get some sleep then all will be fine. You’re just tired out and overworked. This has nothing to do with you going crazy. No reason to think of mental illness at all. Just tired, okay?_

And why the hell did he hallucinate a young version of Jarvis of all things?

Didn’t matter now. He started walking towards the door, determined to ignore the tall, slender man in the impeccable suit with the straight posture. He nearly jumped – but managed to keep outwardly cool – when a hand wrapped itself around his upper arm, successfully stopping him midstride.

_Are hallucinations even supposed to be able to touch?_

“I’m afraid I can’t let you go, Sir.”

 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard is confused and certainly out of his comfort zone.  
> All the more reason to try and figure this out!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howard's childhood background is based on the information we got in "Agent Carter - The Blitzkrieg Button".

 

“I’m afraid I can’t let you go, Sir.”

“Why?” he shot back, defiantly.

“Because there’s something you need to see first.”

And all of a sudden the workshop was gone. Vanished. Into thin air, or – more precisely – some indistinct foggy veil. He couldn’t quite make it out, no matter how hard he stared around. There was nothing to focus on, nothing solid, not even a ground beneath his feet – but he refused to think about _that_. He felt his heart beating faster, felt his breaths quicken. Never before had it been so hard to mask his fear, to conceal his increasing panic behind a mask of suave manners, banter or arrogance. Or anger. He felt it all slipping when – finally – the world around him rushed back in.

For a second he allowed himself to close his eyes and take a deep breath. But upon opening them he realized that he wasn’t back in his workshop. Not even his house.

No, he was somewhere that was absolutely impossible. Even more so than the vision of a young Jarvis right next to him.

This was his childhood home. The tiny flat of his parents where he grew up.

There was the small kitchen area next to the door. The old table that wobbled if you didn’t put something under the slightly too short leg. There was the small wooden wardrobe that held all their clothes combined. Mother had inherited it a few years ago when her parents had died. There was the door to the bathroom where you could barely turn around in and next to it the door to the tiny room that barely fit his parents’ bed.

And there was the narrow bed in the corner where he used to sleep. His bed.

But that wasn’t the worst. Nor strangest.

There, in that bed, lay the boy he’d been a very long time ago. And next to him knelt a middle aged man with dark, slicked back hair.

Howard’s breath hitched. A fact that he quickly covered by clearing his throat.

 _This is a dream. This_ has _to be a dream!_

With much more effort than he would’ve thought it took he forced himself to look away from the scene in front of him and up towards the man next to him who still held his arm.

“What’s going on? What is the meaning of this?”

A soft, yet sad smile played over Jarvis’ – was that even Jarvis? – lips, highlighting a sorrow behind that green eyes that seemed to drag him in. Hadn’t Jarvis broken eye contact at that moment to gaze upon the room that couldn’t be real, Howard would’ve done it himself.

“It’s like I told you. I brought you here because you need to see. You need to _remember_.”

“What? You brought me into the past? That’s ridiculous,” he huffed. “And who the hell are you anyway. You’re not Jarvis. Not the real one.”

“Oh, but I am, in some ways at least. In other’s I am not. But it’s not important who _I_ am. I’m merely the one who guides you on this part of your journey. The important question is: who are _you_ , Howard?”

_What the…_

“Just observe!”

He got no chance to properly process Jarvis’ words – _His guide?_ _What guide? What journey?_ – no chance to reply, because at this moment he heard his father’s voice. That deep rumble that reminded him of the smell of rotten fruit, of poverty and the constant struggle to break free of it. And safety.

“Better?” he asked, tugging an extra blanket around the small boy, who nodded shyly.

Howard remembered that moment. If nothing else then the fresh scratch at his younger self’s chin gave it away. He’d never forget that day!

He’d been feeling sick all morning, but he had to do his usual round after school, delivering the newspapers to the subscribers in his area. Although it didn’t pay off very well, they needed the additional money. Only five newspapers away from getting home and a kiss from his mother the prospect of a warm blanket had looked pretty amazing. He’d been shivering and huddling closer into his thin jacket by then.

That’s when Harold and his gang of misfits had spotted him. The older boys had surrounded him, teasing him about his meager height as always, when they caught on to his shivering. They’d mocked him – _Oh, little Howie is cold. Mommy, Mommy, come and cuddle me in a blanket!_ – and started pushing him around. Too slow on the uptake he’d missed his chance to get out of the situation and by then he’d felt too uneasy, too subdued to speak up and certainly too weak to sneak out or fight his way out. In the end Harold had spotted the newspapers and put his friends up to help. They had forcefully wrapped him into the remaining papers like in a cocoon – _to keep you warm, Howie_. He’d been so angry and helpless, he’d started to cry. It had made them laugh even more. In the end they’d shoved him one last time and run off while he’d scratched his chin on the ground, unable to break his fall.

He’d been afraid to come home: Sure his father would be angry because of the lost money for the destroyed newspapers that Mr. Trevors would undoubtedly cut off his pay.

Only his father hadn’t been angry. He’d listened to the story, cleaned his wound, noticed his fever and tucked him into bed. But instead of just playing out inside his mind this scene was taking place right there in front of him.

And against his better judgement, Howard observed.

“I’m sorry,” his younger self whispered while his father applied a wet cloth to his forehead.

The older man smiled. “It’s alright. You’ll get better soon and afterwards we just have to work a little bit harder. Nothing we can’t do. Us Stark men are made of iron after all. But let what happened be a lesson to you, Howard. Never show weakness to others like that! They exploit it too easily, especially bullies like Harold. Never show them that you’re not at your best or that you’re hurt. Stay strong! Use your strengths to get out of situations like that. Why do you think God gave you that clever mind of yours, huh? Use it!” His father flicked his finger against young Howard’s nose and made the boy grin for a moment. “But never show them weakness, boy. You’re a Stark, so I know you can do that.”

Howard knew that speech only too well. How could he forget the probably most important thing his father’d ever taught him about the harsh truths of life?

Never show weakness.

Use your brain.

Starks are made of iron.

The three mantras that had made it possible to escape the confines of his social class.

“I know all that,” he complained towards Jarvis. “So what’s the point of-“

“But never forget this, Howard. Everyone is weak sometimes, it’s only human. It’s just that our society seems to forget about that. That’s what you’ve got family for, your mother and me. With us you can always be just yourself. We’ll always have your back, no matter what.”

He couldn’t help but stare. His mouth fell open and his shoulders slumped in disbelief. The words still reverberated in his head, he remembered them now. Remembered lying there, feeling too hot and too cold at the same time, listening in awe as his father spoke to him like with a grown-up. Remembered commemorating every single word of it before he’d leaned into the soft touch of his father’s hand and fallen asleep.

 _How could I forget that? How could I possibly forget_ that _?_

“It’s time to go.”

“What?”

Still dazed by this revelation he barely felt Jarvis’ hand against his arm that pulled him backwards. He stumbled, unwilling to take his eyes from his younger self or leave. It seemed he had no choice whatsoever, since the moment he took one step the room around him vanished and turned into that strange nothingness again.

Just looking at it made him dizzy and his stomach churn, so he turned, determined to get some answers out of Jarvis.

But there was no Jarvis. There was another face staring back at him with that very familiar air of annoyance.

“ _Peggy?_ ”

“You sound surprised, Howard.”

His mouth gaped open, moved as if to form words but there were none. He must look like a fish out of water.

She cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly amused. “Well, well. Look at that. The great Howard Stark, lost for words. This is one for the books!“

He blinked and licked his lips, staring at the woman he’d been working with on an almost daily – alright, lets calls it weekly – basis for years. The woman he’d founded S.H.I.E.L.D. with. The woman he would entrust his life to without even thinking. But just like Jarvis she was _young_. WWII kind of young.

“Peggs, what- what are you doing here?”

Alright, he was sure that there was absolutely no other question dumber than this one right now. He had no idea what the hell was going on, if he was dreaming or going crazy or had been poisoned with hallucinogenic drugs or whatever, but maybe he _was_ losing his mind when stupid things like that came out of his mouth.

Peggy smirked, her eyes glinting mischievously. Or was that malice he was seeing?

“Well, someone needs to call you out on your shit, Howard, and as far as I can remember that has always been my job.”

He couldn’t help but swallow against a lump in his throat at that look she was giving him. When his surroundings chose that exact moment to solidify again he was more than happy to focus on something else.

 _Dammit, that woman can glare!_ _Wait, is that…_

“We’re back! This- this is _my_ house!” he exclaimed surprised. And relieved.

And it was.

They were standing in the hallway of the upper floor, right next to one of the ugly paintings that Maria had bought at an auction for God knows how much money.

This was real. It had to be, right? It felt real. The softness of the Persian carpet beneath his soles that gave the impression of walking on clouds. The smell of furniture polish and wood. This was his home. The real one. Wasn’t it?

So why was his Peggy hallucination still here?

"Well spotted, Howard,“ Peggy said with a condescending smile. It sent chills down his spine.

“This is your house. Your home. Right now, at this very moment.“

His eyes narrowed at her choice of words. There was something about it, about all of this, that gave him pause. His mind practically jumped at the problem, eager for something tangible, for a clue, for something to solve that didn’t involve the possibility of him losing his mind. And when certain pieces clicked together he couldn’t help but jerk his arm free of her grip and take a step back, stunned and outraged all at once.

“What is this here? Some kind of _Christmas Carol_ remake?”

Peggy only laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Howard. It’s not even Christmas.“

„You don’t say!“ he huffed back and raised his hand with his index finger stretched out, ready to count out his observations for her. “A version of Jarvis that’s long gone but just as annoyingly smart-aleck as the old one takes me to my past. And now you’re here, thrumming with suppressed rage like the night you punched me in the face and take me to a place in “right now”, which translates to “presence” in my language. You’re clearly some ghost of “present whatever” in this whole dream-hallucination-coma-thingy. Oh my God, that’s it. I’m in a coma. I’m in a fucking coma, trapped in some crazy _Christmal Carol_ world. And I’m fucking _Scrooge_! I don’t want to be Scroo-“

The opening of the door right next to him interrupted his increasingly frenzied rant abruptly. An elderly gentleman left the room, put his hat back on his head and headed for the stairs, a brown leather bag in his hand. Startled as he was he still recognized that man from other visits in the last years. It had been Dr. Palmers, Maria’s trusted physician. His eyes turned back towards the closed door again.

“That’s Tony’s room,” he stated, puzzled.

Peggy merely rolled her eyes at him. “At least you know _something_. Now, come on, time to go!”

And with that she grabbed his shoulder, pulled him around and gave him a shove. Stumbling a bit he reached for the wall to get his balance back and noticed that he was in his son’s room all of a sudden. He’d never stepped through a door yet he was in here now.

_You’ve jumped from you workshop to the past and back here but you’re wondering about not needing doors?_

_God, this is so damn messed up!_

He sensed Peggy behind him before he felt her hand on his arm or her hair tickling his cheek as she leaned her head over his shoulder.

“Take a good look, Howard!”

He sighed. Seriously, this was getting ridiculous. This was nothing but-

Coughing.

It sounded wet and pitiful.

And painful.

And he looked.

Jarvis sat on the edge of Tony’s bed, soothingly stroking the boy’s hair while he was trying to get his breath back under control, lying all curled up on his side buried beneath a thick blanket.

“Shh, it’s okay.”

“I don’t want to be sick,” sounded a feeble and breathless voice. It took him a moment to recognize it as his son’s. “Captain America wouldn’t be sick.”

Jarvis shook his head a bit. “Maybe not, but you’re not Captain America, are you? It’ll soon get better. You’ll see, in a few days you’ll be up to no good again. Just get some rest now.”

“But I need to go to school tomorrow. Starks are made of iron! And I don’t want to look weak.”

Jarvis sighed and looked suddenly even older than he was. “Nonsense, Tony. You’re not weak, you’re sick. And you heard what the doctor said. You need to stay in bed to get better.“

„But Dad-“

„Let me worry about your father, okay? He’s off to Europe anyway in a few hours.”

Tony suddenly sat up with a startled gasp that made him cough again. The blanket fell down to reveal his blue pajamas and he started shivering as Jarvis gently pushed him back down and under the covers again.

“Seriously, Tony. You need to stay in bed. No more stunts like this, okay?”

“But- but- he’s leaving _today_?”

The butler nodded and Tony bit his lip, a desperate and devastated expression on his young face that made Howard wonder what’s on the boy’s mind.

“The car! I wanted to finish it before he leaves.”

“The miniature model of his flying car from the first expo?” Jarvis asked and Tony nodded enthusiastically. “You need to get some rest now. You can finish it when you feel better.”

“No!” the boy nearly cried. “I’ve almost figured out how to make it fly. I just need some more hours. Please! I told Dad it would be ready before he goes.”

Howard frowned. He dimly remembered his son going on and on about some miniature car at dinner but nothing more, least of all a deadline for his son to build one.

“I just-,“ Tony started, voice weak and insecure. “I want him to be proud of me.”

Jarvis smiled. It was the same sad smile he’d displayed in that vision of the past. “Your father’s proud of you anyway, Tony.”

But the boy only shrugged deeper into his pillow, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t believe you.”

There was a twinge in Howard’s chest. It wasn’t just that he’d never seen his son this open and sociable or that those words were tugging at something inside him. No, it was the fact that Jarvis and Tony in that moment reminded him of himself and his father.

“You’re not leaving this bed until you’re better!”

“But Jarvis, I need to- _please_ , just-“

Whatever else Tony’d wanted to say was drowned out by yet another bout of coughing. He pressed his hands up against his chest and curled up tighter. Even after it was finally over and his body relaxed a bit his face stayed scrunched up in pain.

“It hurts,” he whined and Howard could see tears dropping from his tightly closed eyes. “I want Mommy.”

The boys chin trembled and he turned his head towards the pillow as if to hide his distress and his tears.

Jarvis stroked his hair again. “I know, but she’s at the other side of the country right now.”

They sat like that for a moment, in silence.

Howard wanted to look away. It was dawning on him what this was all about but he refused to acknowledge it. He didn’t want this, any of it. Because acknowledging it, thinking about it would make it true and he wouldn’t be able to fool himself anymore. And he couldn’t face that. Couldn’t…

He just couldn’t look away.

“When will Dad leave?”

“In a few hours.”

“But you’ll stay with me, Jarvis, right?”

A big and honest smile formed on the butler’s lips, changing his stoic face into something warm and friendly. And he winked. _He winked!_

“Always, Sir!”

Tony grinned at that. A bit tired but it was the first time his face lit up since Howard had “stepped” into the room. Jarvis pulled the blanket up closer to the boys chin and stroked his hair again, something that Tony seemed to like judging from the way he leaned into the touch.

“Jarvis?”

“Hm?”

“Why doesn’t he like me?”

It stung.

He couldn’t take it.

Howard turned and stormed out of the room until he reached the opposing wall of the hallway to lean against. He closed his eyes to calm his breathing and his racing thoughts. It didn’t work, not with the big lump in his throat almost choking him and those words reverberating through his head.

_Did I do this?_

It didn’t take a genius to know to whom Tony’d been referring to. Did the boy really feel that way? Unloved? Desperate to get his approval?

_Am I really that bad a father?_

 

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard starts realizing the truth. And he thinks he knows what to do.  
> But then comes the third ghost.  
> And hadn't the third been the worst one in the book?

 

_Am I really that bad a father?_

Immediately two pictures formed before his eyes. The one of himself with his father and then Tony with Jarvis. Each one featuring a sick child and a caring adult, a father figure. Just that in one of them the actual father was absent.

And suddenly all those times came back to him when his son had asked for his attention and he’d shut him off, busy with something else and irritated by the disruption. All those times he’d pushed the boy to get better, to strive for _more_ instead of praising him for the incredible achievements he’d already made. All those anniversaries his drunken laments for his long lost friend had led to him bewailing the one time in his life he’d gotten everything right and created a legend. All those times he’d drowned his anger and frustration with Stark Industries, with S.H.I.E.L.D., with the limitations of the technology around him in alcohol in front of the child, shouting at everyone and everything that happened to be in front of him.

_God, I never even went to see him when Jarvis said he’s sick. Instead I told him to stop being lazy and toughen up while he’s been coughing his lungs out!_

“Howard!”

“Peggy!” he gasped, startled by her sudden appearance but not her angry tone. He straightened up and turned to face her. And damn, she _was_ angry. Shoulders tense, lips in a thin line, eyes cold and her whole body vibrating with fury.

“You chickened out!”

“I couldn’t-“ he stammered when her flat hand slapped across his left cheek. It stung like hell and his hand instinctively came up to cover the burning side of his face.

He deserved it, though.

“Spare me your excuses, Howard! He’s your son! _Your son_! Is this another one of your _bad habits_ that you picked up along the way? Neglecting your child? Making him think he’s unworthy? Weak?”

“Peggy, I-“

He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. Instinct told him to defend himself, to push all those accusations from him and lie if necessary, but for once he didn’t want to. Because she was right. Because he deserved her outrage. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. How _did_ this happen?

He loved Maria. She’d been the only woman that had ever been able to capture his interest for longer than a week – and held it still – and simultaneously been able to put up with him and his eccentricities. He might not have been overly fond of the idea of children at first – the idea of an heir in general, yes, but actually _having_ children, not really – but as soon as he’d held his little Tony for the first time he’d been the happiest man on earth. There’d been nothing more important and more special in the whole wide world than his little boy.

What happened along the way that he’d fucked up like this?

The boy had been an exemplary baby, had barely screamed. Had slept through four to five hours straight each night. Even as a toddler he’d rarely made a fuss. And the older he’d gotten the more Howard had seen himself in the boy. Always curious, always asking questions and trying to figure out why things worked the way they did. He was clever and had a knack for all things mathematic or electronic.

Tony had the potential to surpass him and his accomplishments, but had he ever told him that?

“Now,” Peggy’s disdainful voice pulled him back to the present, “get your act together! There’s no chickening out of the next part!”

And without a doubt he suddenly knew what was coming. He’d been right. This _was_ just like _A Christmal Carol_. He didn’t know how it worked exactly, but that wasn’t important. The important thing was that this wasn’t about Christmas or being stingy. This was about him mistreating his son. And now that he knew that he wasn’t eager to take a look at the future.

When Peggy tried to grab for his arm again he took a step back, his hands raised in front of him to keep her away.

“Okay, I get it now. Really, I do! This whole thing. Jarvis and you. The past and the present. I made a mistake. A huge one. I admit it. I’ve been a horrible father, nothing like mine ever was to me and that’s- that’s unforgivable. But I see it now, okay? I’ll change! I’ll make up for it, I promise! It’s not necessary to mobilize ghost number three. Really!”

Peggy crossed her arms in front of her chest and scrutinized him with one eyebrow raised. “So you _do_ realize you’re a terrible father… well, well, that’s a start, Howard. But it’s not what this is about.”

His hands fell limply at his sides. “It’s not?” he asked feebly, too shocked that there’s _more_ to keep it from showing on his face.

She shook her head and sighed. “You’re only seeing the big picture. You’re an engineer, you should know.”

“Know what?”

A hand fell onto his shoulder from behind him, startling him into yet another near-heart-attack. A big and strong hand that wasn’t about to let him go. Undoubtedly ghost number three. The ghost was leaning closer, he could feel it. Not a second later its voice sounded close to his ears.

“That the devil’s in the detail.”

He froze.

_No! Not that! Not-_

“You look like a lamb led to the slaughter, Howard. Seriously, I’ve never seen you this pale. Well, Peggy can be quite frightening, but somehow I think that’s not it, am I right? Howard? Come on, open your eyes, pal!”

He wasn’t even aware that they were closed until now.

_It’s no use. You’re not getting out of this. Not this time._

So he steeled himself and opened his eyes, looking up on instinct only to meet a pair of laughing, blue eyes. Steve’s eyes.

It was really him. Tall and blond and perfect. In his military uniform, not the one he wore as Captain America. Jesus, this wasn’t fair.

“Why you?” he forced the words out while trying to push all those memories of increasingly desperate search missions aside. He could live with facing a young and know-it-all version of Jarvis or a young and furious version of his friend and colleague. But the good-natured smile of a friend he’d lost so many years ago? Of a man he unintentionally made his son believe meant more to him than his own child?

_Wasn’t the third ghost the worst in that story? Now I know why._

“Who else would it be, Howard?”

_Yeah. Who else?_

Once more they were back in the misty world of nothing. He tried pinching himself again in a last attempt to wake up and avoid what was coming. It didn’t work which wasn’t exactly a surprise. There was no escape. So he might as well face it. Face Steve.

“I’ve been searching for you.”

“I know.”

Alright, the blond had never been an overly chatty one.

He sighed. “Where’re you taking me?”

Steve grinned and shook his head as if to say “isn’t that obvious?”. “The future of course. Thought you’d figured that out already.”

“I know. And I have. I meant, where ex- _when_ exactly are you taking me?”

“35 years forward. Give or take.”

“Great.”

It was anything but. 35 years meant he might still be alive in that future and feature in whatever scene he was about to be shown. He really didn’t feel like seeing a shouting match were Tony spat into his face, blaming him for everything. Or seeing his son as a drug addict or something, which he only did to cope with the damage his father had done to his psyche. Or-

_Oh my god, didn’t the last ghost show Scrooge his funeral? Am I going to see mine now? With Tony not caring or not even being there?_

He bit his lip and pushed his hands into his pockets to hide their trembling. He was afraid. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t-

The nothingness dulled away to the most amazing place he’d ever seen. His mouth dropped open and he shrugged off Steve’s hand to turn around in a full circle and take everything in.

In a way – a very rudimentary way – it reminded him of his workshop. Desks and benches, electronics, computers and machines, but this – _this_ – was marvelous. There were giant computer screens not thicker than a finger. And _holographic_ technology. Blueprints, highlighted in different colors, hanging just in midair, _three-dimensional_. This was- this was Wonderland and he’d just fallen through the rabbit hole.

That’s when he spotted him. He knew it was Tony he moment he laid eyes on him. Not because this whole ghost-thingy revolved around him and his son and it was logical to assume that it would be Tony, but because- well, he just _knew_. He could see himself in the man who sat behind one of the tables, as well as Maria. For a moment he just studied him. The strong muscles of his arms and shoulders that were revealed by his black undershirt. The dark hair that stood every which way and his interesting beard style – it suited him.

_That’s my son!_

_Surrounded by incredible tech._

_Definitely my son!_

Tony leaned away from them and seemed to be working on something close to his left, his face pinched in concentration. He couldn’t be sure with all the blinking and hovering lights in this room that blinded him. So he stepped forward, around the table and therefore around all the glowing holographic schematics, and froze.

What he’d taken for concentration was actually pain. His shirt was pushed up and he was dabbing some liquid across a long cut in his side with a gauze pad. Most likely an antiseptic. The wound didn’t look too deep but painful nonetheless, especially with all the bruising around it.

_How did he get that cut? Experiment gone wrong?_

Alarmed by the wound he looked closer. Tony looked pale and exhausted. He stuck an adhesive wound dressing on his side and lowered his shirt, leaning back with a tired sigh.

“JARVIS, did you scan the suit already? How bad is it?”

Howard frowned. Jarvis couldn’t still be alive, could he? And if so, he was way too old to still work for his son – or work in general.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed, Sir.”

The voice came out of nowhere and it sounded like Jarvis, but it couldn’t be Jarvis and there was no one else around anyway.

Tony snickered, then grimaced and grabbed his throat. “Just show me, ok?” he said, hoarsely.

_Sore throat?_

A complicated three-dimensional blueprint – _no, a scan_ – of something like a humanoid looking robot appeared suddenly above the table.

“Sir, might I suggest that you get your wound checked by a doctor?”

“It’s not that bad, JARVIS!” Tony replied, irritated in a way that implied that they’d had this conversation before.

“Maybe not, Sir, but my scan shows an elevated heart-rate and a temperature of 101F.”

His _scan? Is that- that’s the computer talking! Like a human being. Sounding like Jarvis._

 _Did Tony create a computer program modeled after_ Edwin Jarvis _? Or is that- no fucking way- is it artificial intelligence?_

“At least take some rest. It’s been 43 hours since you last sle-“

“Mute!”

Only now that it was silent did Howard hear the footsteps. A moment later a very familiar figure stepped around a corner and into the workshop.

“Impossible!” he gasped. “But- but-“

It was Steve, without a doubt. And in the flesh – and casual clothes. And with his shield in his hands.

“Hey Cap, what’s up?” Tony asked with a lopsided grin.

Howard turned towards his ghostly companion for help. Seeing one Steve Rogers per hallucinatory ghost-trip was more than enough, but two?

Ghost-Steve shrugged, clearly biting back a grin. “S.H.I.E.L.D. will find me one day. And thanks to Erskine’s serum I’ll still be alive.”

He felt as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his chest while at the same time someone was punching him in the gut. Steve would be found one day, by the organization Howard had founded, that was a tremendous relief, but he’s still alive? Even right now? Buried somewhere in frozen water or ice and _alive_? For decades?

_Oh God! I’m so sorry, Steve. So damn sorry I couldn’t find you._

Future-Steve frowned and got Howard’s attention back by talking.

“Are you alright? You sound a bit- off.”

Tony shrugged. “Faceplate got damaged. Inhaled a bit too much smoke, I guess.”

Reassured, the blond nodded. “You had us worried there for a moment. You took quite the hit.”

And Tony laughed. Just like that. “Nah! Nothing the armor can’t handle. So, what’s up?”

He was playing it down, Howard realized, whatever had happened, he was playing it down and hiding that he was hurt. And had a fever. And damn, he was good at it.

“The magnetic lock of the shield was acting up in the last fight, I thought, maybe-“

“Let me see what I can do!”

And with that words both men started to get blurry and fade.

Howard spun around abruptly to face his version of the soldier, more than a bit confused. “What? That’s it? You tell me you’re alive and my son and you are friends or something and that’s it? No screaming, no accusations, no death, no noth-“

“This isn’t over yet, my friend. Better keep watching.“

Right at that time the workshop became solid again and Tony was there, but Steve was gone. It was obvious that some time had passed. Well, for one there stood the thing which’s blueprints he’d taken for a robot, only it wasn’t. It was open with Tony working on some mechanism at its lower arm and it could be entered, like some kind of combat armor.

_Is that the armor Tony’d been talking about?_

The other reason was that Tony looked like shit. His eyes were bloodshot and drooping every now and then. Also, he wasn’t just a bit pale anymore but almost ashen and his face was glistening with sweat.

He put his tools down and leaned back against the desk, rubbing his wrist across his brow in a tired gesture. “Alright, check it again, JARVIS.”

A bluish beam came out of nowhere and slid along the arm of the armor. It had to be part of a scanning process.

“The connection is working. The suit is operational again. Sir, it’s been 48 hours now and-“ the computer voice paused which immediately got Tony’s attention. “An urgent call from Captain Rogers, Sir.”

Tony slumped a bit. “Put him through. Audio only.“

„Tony?“

„Yep?“

„Natasha called in. She checked out the Hydra base she’d been talking about. She said there’re powerful energy readings that could be from the scepter. Even if they’re not, whatever’s emitting them shouldn’t be with Hydra. Suit up, we’re starting in five.“

The connection ended and Tony sighed. “Two times in one day? Seriously?”

“Sir, you’re in no condition to attend a mission, let alone a fight. I recommend telling Capt-“

“Noted. And no, I’m not letting them go up against Hydra without air-support.”

Wincing at the scene in front of him Howard watched his stubborn son stepping into the armor he’d just finished repairing. Fascinated he watched it close around him, all those hundreds of pieces that moved individually and automatically before they shut and sealed him into a cocoon of red and gold metal. His eyes fell onto the glowing ring of blue light in the middle of the armor’s chest. He knew that design all too well, but-

“Is that- oh my God, that’s- is that an arc-reactor?” he exclaimed in disbelief and wonder.

Steve stepped next to him. “It is. He improved the design and miniaturized it. It powers the suit. A bigger version powers this very building.”

Howard gasped, still not believing. And he couldn’t help the sting of envy at seeing that his son had succeeded where he had failed for over a decade. But there was something else as well, something way more powerful that covered up his envy and buried it: pride!

That didn’t keep him from wondering, though: Hydra was still around? And Tony was not just the genius inventor behind the fighting force but an active participant?

_He’s going to fight in a condition like that?_

Again his surroundings changed, only this time he didn’t care for the temporary disorientation. He wanted to know – just as much as he dreaded – what’ll happen to his son.

What he saw next sent him back decades ago, back to the SSR and WWII. All that fighting.

He couldn’t make sense of it all, there was too much happening at once and it all happened too fast. It wasn’t helping that it all could’ve easily fit into that science fiction movie he’d seen a while ago. What was it called? _Star Wars_? Either that or into a comic book. It just seemed so unreal. That he seemed to hover above the whole scene, in mid-air without strings or any kind of support, and observe it from a bird’s-eye perspective wasn’t helping either.

There was a base somewhere in a forest and Hydra soldiers were everywhere fighting the small group surrounding Rogers and Tony. There was a redheaded woman who took out her enemies with a precision and ease that it was fascinating and frightening to watch. There also was an archer with a miraculous diverse set of arrows – _man, I’d love to get my hands on those_ – and then it got strange. A blond man with a cape and a hammer _flew_ around and struck his enemies down with the same ease a kid would destroyed a sand castle. And he could summon _fucking lightning_ down from the sky! Who did this guy think he was? The Norse god Thor? But the screaming and smashing giant green monster was even stranger. And more terrifying. What was that thing? And what did it say about the state of the world if _Captain America_ teamed up with something like _that_?

He tried to follow the movements of his son by looking for something gold or red flashing past while trying to at least partly keep up with their chatter that he could hear for some reason. Maybe he simply was supposed to hear it.

He seemed to be the only one who noticed that Tony had problems dodging shots or trees, that his voice sounded clipped and that his speculations regarding enemy equipment or the ominous energy readings were slow. Sure, he didn’t know this man, but he’d seen enough so far to know that he had to be a genius. And he was his son. If his mind worked anything like his own than his calculations should be almost immediate.

Dammit, this was a real fight. A life and death situation. Tony shouldn’t be there at all, not in his condition!

Howard could barely watch. He started to fear the worst. Had Ghost-Steve brought him here not to see his own death but to watch his _son_ die? No, he wouldn’t, right? That would be too cruel.

He didn’t want to see that. He really, really didn’t.

Future-Steve went inside the building and the others started to notice that something was off. Judging by their clipped conversation Tony’d been to slow to help out somewhere, had almost flown into the green thing and had exploded an enemy’s vehicle without noticing that the redhead had been fighting close by. Close enough to get knocked down.

“Watch out, Man of Iron!” someone yelled.

Howard saw the missile, it headed straight for his son.

_Please, no!_

Tony reacted slow and barely managed to swerve beneath it, but distracted like that he got too low and knocked into a tree. He was hurled through the air, hit several other trees while trying to stabilize his flight again only to crash down hard right in front of the archer who barely managed to get out of the way in time.

“Tony, you’re okay?” the woman asked.

“Dammit Stark, what’s wrong with you today? Get a grip or you’ll get all of us killed!” the archer snapped.

His son didn’t move.

Again his surroundings blurred.

“NO!“ he screamed and rounded on Steve. “Stop it! Get me back there! Is he alright? I need to know, Steve. IS HE ALRIGHT?”

Steve shook his head and crossed his hands in front of his hips. Remorse was clearly written on his face. “I’m sorry, Howard, but that’s not the way this works.”

“What?”

He closed the last of the distance and his hands grabbed Steve’s lapels, shaking him violently – not that the super-soldier was overly fazed by it. “GET ME BACK THERE! NOW! For God’s sake, Steve, he’s my _son_! Get me- at least tell me! Is he-“

_Is he dead?_

He couldn’t say the word, couldn’t force it past his lips. That had been one hell of a crash. Sure, the armor protected him somewhat, but it wasn’t exactly padded with cushions and he’d been in no condition to fight to begin with and- wasn’t that the point of this exercise? To show him a death in his future?

_Is this what they meant with “the devil’s in the detail”? But that makes no sense!_

“Look for yourself,” Steve said calmly as if his outburst never happened.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel almost sorry for Howard at this point... almost ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The devil's in the detail. Now Howard gets it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for your lovely comments, they absolutely made my day (or days, to be precise).

 

“Look for yourself,” Steve said calmly as if his outburst never happened.

Only now did he realize that they’d left the nowhere-space behind again. Instead he stood on some kind of landing platform on top of a skyscraper. A jet-like aircraft was parked behind him and the people from the fight walked out. Some of them at last. The hammer-guy wasn’t there and the green monster was absent as well. An unremarkable looking guy with glasses and badly fitting clothes was with them, though. Maybe the pilot? The archer was steadying the woman who seemed to be hurt.

Tony was nowhere in sight.

_No! Please, no-_

A swooshing sound made him look up. To see Tony flying towards the platform in a slightly wobbly flight pattern. The relief that flooded him was imminent and even made him stumble a bit.

The armor came down slowly and Tony landed not far from him. As soon as his thrusters shut down his left leg buckled. He stumbled, swayed and fell down to his knees, barely keeping himself from going all the way down.

And the fear was back.

“Tony!”

Future-Steve and Mr. Unknown came running immediately while the archer shouted that he’d take the redhead to the infirmary. The blond kneeled down next to Tony, calling his name, but when he got no reaction he opened the faceplate of the armor himself. Both men gasped in shock. Howard had known what they would find yet it still hurt to see it again, only worse than last time.

His son was ashen and sweaty, his dark hair plastered to his forehead and his red-rimmed eyes barely open and unfocused. Blood was sluggishly dripping from a cut above his eyebrow and from his nose, clearly some small reminders of his earlier crash. He was panting, almost wheezing. Steve grabbed his shoulder at once to keep him from falling down while touching the back of his other hand against Tony’s cheek and forehead, regardless of his feeble protest.

“Shit! Tony, you’re burning up!“

The other man with the glasses felt the temperature as well. “A fever like that doesn’t develop within the hour. He’s been sick before we left. Which explains a lot, actually.”

Steve’s face distorted into an exasperated and angry grimace for a second – angry with himself, not with Tony – before he faced the struggling man again.

“Why didn’t you tell us? You could’ve compromised the mission. You’re not fit for a fight like this!”

Even now, barely able to keep his eyes open, his son tried for a reassuring smile, which failed miserably.

“’m fine. ‘s nothin’. Really. Starks ‘re made ’f iron.”

That sentence cut through him like a knife, piercing his heart. And he knew with a sudden clarity he’d barely felt before in his life that _this_ was the detail! This was the reason for all of this.

_Starks are made of iron._

The golden thread that ran through everything he’d been shown.

The sentence that had started it all.

The sentence that had led to his son almost dying because he thought he needed to look strong. Because he trusted no one. Or felt that he needed to prove himself.

Howard wasn’t sure which was worse.

And all of this because he’d forgotten part of the message, because he’d twisted the meaning, imprinted it onto his son and amplified its impact with all the rest of his shitty parenting.

He felt like the biggest asshole in the whole of history.

Steve’s voice – well, Future-Steve’s voice – dragged his attention back towards his son.

The man with the glasses was frowning, clearly confused, but mostly worried. And Steve was leaning closer, right into Tony’s field of view.

“Even iron can bend under pressure or heat, Tony. You of all of us should know that. It’s also not unbreakable. Now, come on, you belong in bed!”

Howard had to swallow. That words, that imploring words in that amicable tone hit home. There was so much truth in them. A truth he’d never really thought of. And they also were so typically Steve Rogers that it hurt. Because it showed him what he’d missed all those decades.

_But Tony will get it instead. Steve’s friendship and wisdom._

_I can live with that._

He really did. With good conscience and without a doubt.

The two men asked JARVIS to open the emergency release and the suit opened up. Tony dropped out of it like a sack of potatoes, too weak and uncoordinated to keep himself from falling. Both men caught him easily and held him upright.

The bespectacled shook his head with a disbelieving sigh. “Sometimes, you’re an idiot, Tony! Tony?”

“I think he’s unconscious.”

“Alright. Let’s get him inside. We need to get that fever down and find out what’s wrong with him.”

Steve nodded and with the other man’s help he lifted Tony easily into his arms. “He could’ve been killed today! Why wouldn’t he tell us, Bruce? We’re his team. His friends.”

 

 

„Sir?“

He abruptly jolted awake, flinching away from the touch at his shoulder and blinking confused and disoriented at the tall figure looming over him.

_Not another one! Please, I can’t take…_

“Sir! Your car will be here in ten minutes. You wanted me to remind you-“

“Jarvis?”

“Sir? Are you feeling alright?”

It took him longer than he’d liked to make sense of his surroundings and his current situation. He was in his workshop. Had been asleep on his desk. And of course, there’s the flight to Slovenia.

_It was a dream. Just a dream._

_More like a nightmare._

No, it had felt far too real to be just a dream. Whatever it was, this hadn’t been _just_ a dream!

He nodded at his loyal butler and got up, feeling a bit shaky.

“How’s Tony?”

There was no denying the surprise that flashed across Jarvis’ features at his question. The slight widening of his eyes, the skeptical narrowing of his brows and the parting of his lips. That all gave it away, if only for a second then he got his expression under control again.

“He’s currently sleeping, Sir. Dr. Palmer came by earlier and diagnosed him with a beginning bronchitis and prescribed an antibiotic. His temperature has dropped a bit in the last hours and was at 102° last time I checked. I’m afraid he won’t be able to attend school in his current condition.”

With an absentminded nod he left Jarvis and the workshop behind to hurry up the stairs. He needed to see, needed to make sure.

Needed to set it right.

_Why wouldn’t he tell us? We’re his team. His friends._

_I don’t believe you._

_Why doesn’t he like me?_

Howard bit his lip against the pain those sad and desperate words caused him.

“Sir,” Jarvis called after him, “I already packed your suitcase and laid out a fresh set of clothes for you in your office. Your briefcase is waiting there as well. You only need to pack the necessary documents, Sir. There is no need to get upstairs.”

 _No need to get upstairs? Of course there is. God, I really_ have _been a terrible father, haven’t I? And what is that strange look he’s giving me? Is he- Jesus- he’s trying to protect the boy from me by keeping me away!_

That realization actually made him stumble. He barely managed to catch himself against the wall before he tumbled onto the steps. The last time he’d interacted – if you want to call it that – with Tony this morning he’d only shouted into his room and without regard to Jarvis’ information about him being sick he’d told the boy to stop lazing around and toughen up. He hadn’t even stepped foot into the room to look at him.

No wonder Jarvis is trying to protect the kid.

_Oh Tony, I’m so sorry._

“Sir?” Jarvis was just a few steps away from him now. Worry and confusion were battling behind his carefully masked expression of mild concern.

“I need to see my son!” he declared and left the butler again.

“He’s asleep, Sir. There’s no need to disturb him.”

He didn’t listen. But he was careful to be as quiet as possible as he opened the door to Tony’s room. If he really was sleeping he didn’t want to wake him.

Silence greeted him inside.

_He’s sleeping. That’s good. God knows he needs it._

Howard stepped into the room to at least get a good look at him, to watch him for a moment – and ease his own mind a little bit at least – only to discover that the bed was empty.

“Tony?”

Immediately his eyes scanned the room. What he spied between the big chest full of toys and the desk made his blood run cold. There was a crumpled form lying on the floor, thin and small and clad in nothing but blue pajamas.

“TONY!”

Never before had he moved this fast in his life.

He knelt down and carefully rolled the boy onto his back. Tony was shivering beneath his hands and his skin looked so damn pale, apart from his fever-flushed cheeks. His eyes were fluttering. Howard laid his hand on his son’s forehead, gently stroking the hot and clammy skin.

“Tony?”

And his eyes opened. Those beautiful dark eyes, glassy and confused. “Dad?”

“Yeah,” he nodded.

Tony’s eyes widened suddenly and he looked around almost frantically until he saw the desk. His face fell. When he turned his gaze back at him, albeit reluctant, Howard was shocked by the fear and guilt that distorted his young face.

“I’m sorry. I’m- the car. I- I wanted-“

He couldn’t bear it one more second, this fearful stammering. So instead he forced a smile onto his face although he felt more like crying.

“Come here,” he said and pulled his son up gently to hold him against his chest. He closed his arms around his shivering body and tried to convey with his embrace how sorry he felt, how much he loved him. When he felt him snuggle closer, press his face against his chest and grab for his sweater he thought his heart would burst and he couldn’t keep the emotions from showing on his face. Relief. Joy. Hope.

Of course it wasn’t that easy.

“I just wanted to finish the car. Like I promised. But-“ his voice broke and his shoulders started shaking, “I was weak. I’m sorry. It- it won’t happen again.”

Howard had to bite his tongue to not scream out his fury with himself – and bit down a little bit harder because he absolutely deserved the pain! He pressed the crying boy closer while he went to war with himself.

He could picture it clearly now. Tony’d felt the need to prove himself and finish his project on time to maybe get some praising words out of his father, but had collapsed on his way to the desk from exhaustion and fever. And now he _apologized_ for that?

“Hey,” he removed one arm to gently pry his son’s face away from his chest so that he could look at him. Although his eyes were red there were no tears on his face. “You’re not weak. You’re sick. Okay? Now, did you hurt your head when you fell?” To emphasize his meaning – and to be sure anyway – he started to carefully feel around the boy’s head for any bumps.

Tony shook his head minutely.

“That’s good. That’s good.”

One moment the boy narrowed his eyes in a grimace the next he was coughing hard and curling up on himself. He held him through it and when his son leaned his head back against him again, exhausted, he let his hand remain on his head, simply cradling him in his protective embrace. He noticed how Tony pressed a hand against his undoubtedly hurting chest. He also noticed that he didn’t say anything about it, not like he had with Jarvis.

So he took a moment to take a deep breath. A moment to gather his thoughts. The words barely registered with him at first, quietly as they were mumbled.

“I just- I wanted to be tough. Like Captain America. Like you.”

Howard closed his eyes against another wave of guilt and self-recrimination. But this wasn’t about him. So he bowed his head and kissed his son’s hair while he adjusted his grip and got up.

“You already are, Tony. Now, let’s get you back to bed, huh?”

As he turned around he saw Jarvis standing in the middle of the room, mouth slightly agape in wonder. And there was no doubt about the flicker of hope in his eyes, but overshadowing that all was a thick layer of apprehension. Howard couldn’t blame him.

“I’ve got this,” he mouthed to the other man and his butler immediately schooled his features and stepped back, out of the way, but he didn’t leave. Instead he kept hovering close to the door.

Part of him felt hurt and offended at first, but mostly he was glad about his employee’s – and let’s be honest, his friend’s – integrity. At least Jarvis was always looking out for his son.

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry!  
> I won't let Howard off the hook THAT easily!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting things right with Tony isn't easy. Howard wasn't expecting that.  
> But he wasn't prepared either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for your amazing feedback.  
> I never thought this fic would find so many interested readers.

 

Gently he placed the boy onto his bed and grabbed for the blanket when he noticed a small container of _Vicks VacoRub_ and a small towel on the nightstand. He paused and told Tony to remain seated. Without further ado he scooped some of it up, sat down at the edge of the bed and pulled up his son’s pajama top to expose his back. The moment he touched him to rub the ointment onto his skin the boy hissed and flinched back a bit.

_Damn, the stuff must be cold. You idiot! Can’t you do anything right?_

“I’m sorry. It’ll warm up soon.”

When he was done and put the shirt back down, Tony found his voice again: “I’ve figured it out, Dad. I think I know what to do to make the car fly. I just- I wanted to finish it before-“

Howard sighed as he signaled the boy to lie down. “Just forget about the car, it’s not import-“

He stopped at once as he saw the hurt in those glassy eyes and realized how his words must sound to him.

“What I meant is,” he pointed at the boy’s chest with a nod of his chin. “Lift up. Don’t startle, it’s still a bit cold.” Rubbing another bout of ointment onto that small chest it suddenly hit him that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d held and touched his son like that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d embraced him or rubbed sunscreen into his skin or anything else like that. Mundane, affectionate, day-to-day things. That realization pained him more than he could say. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden.

He licked his lips and started again. “What I meant is: I know you’ll finish that car. And I know you’ll figure out how to make it fly ( _He’ll figure out my arc-reactor problem and build a flying suit of armor. Of course he’ll figure out how to make a model car fly!)_. But right now, at this very moment, that’s not important. Right now all you need to focus on is getting better.”

He pulled the pajama back in place and grabbed the towel to wipe his hand clean again. The smell of menthol that filled the air now was pleasant. Fresh and clean. Hopefully it would help Tony to some rest by helping him breathe easily and suppressing the cough long enough that he could sleep in peace.

Tony was curled up on his side when Howard turned and pulled the blanket up and tucked it around his body just like Jarvis had in that vision he’d been shown. He hadn’t expected to see his son looking so pensive and sad after telling him to get better. Was this still about the miniature car?

“To go to school tomorrow. I know.”

_What? Where did- why- oh dammit!_

“No!” He abandoned his seat on the bed to sink down to the floor, kneeling right next to the bed so he was level with his son’s face. “You’re not going to school tomorrow. Or the day after that. You’re staying home until you’re well again.”

Tony frowned, clearly confused. “But- but you said I shouldn’t dawdle in bed. And I should never show weakness. That Starks are made of iron. I can go to school, really! I’m made of iron, too. Please, Dad, you have to believe me.”

Seeing his agitation, hearing the desperation in his voice, Howard thought someone was lunging into his quest and squeezing his heart to dust. He had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep his composure. His other hand was gripping the edge of the nightstand so hard that his knuckles turned white – at least that covered the trembling – because he feared that without holding on to something he’d give in to another one of his bad habits as Peggy would call it: running. Running away from his mistakes. From difficult situations. From too much emotion. It had always been his first instinct. True, most of the times he’d turned around sooner or later to face up to the problem.

But not this time. This time he wouldn’t run at all.

He wouldn’t take the easy way out. Not with his son. Not again.

He would fix this. If he still could.

Howard took a deep, steadying breath and tried to force the self-hatred and the fear – and anything else related to that – away so it wouldn’t show on his face. He’d scared the boy enough, had sent enough wrong messages. So he set for a smile, albeit a wobbly one, and leaned closer.

“Shh, Tony. It’s- listen! I’ll tell you a secret, okay. One that I’ve never told anyone before. Wanna hear it?”

The boy nodded, reluctantly, but he nodded.

He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper: “Your father is an idiot!”

There was a soft gasp coming from behind him and Tony startled, surprised. His mouth opened slightly, but his eyes narrowed almost immediately in thought. He was completely confused and tried to make sense of it all.

“This is a dream, isn’t it?” the boy pressed his lips together for a moment and looked away. “I’m dreaming. Of course I’m dreaming. He wouldn’t say that. He wouldn’t do-“

His voice broke and tears welled up in his eyes before they rolled across his cheeks, along his nose and dripped into the pillow.

Only now did Howard realize that he’d been waiting for tears the whole time. The boy was sick and feverish and confused and afraid, of course he would cry. But he hadn’t. Instead he’d braced himself, had been brave to not lose his face in front of his father. To not appear weak. But now he _was_ crying. Because his father being nice confused him. Because it couldn’t be real. Because he wished for it so much but actually getting it was too good to be true.

And here he’d thought it couldn’t come worse.

It just did. And he felt the hand in his chest again, that still held his squished heart, as it ripped out of him, leaving him empty and bleeding.

He looked at Tony, who – even now when he thought him to be a dream – pressed his face closer into his pillow to hide his tears in shame.

_Dammit Howard!_

_FIX THIS!_

He stretched out his trembling hand to stroke the hair out of his son’s face then gently nudged his chin. “Look at me, Tony. Please?”

And he did, but without turning his head, he merely moved his eyes.

“You’re not dreaming. I promise you. You. Are _not_. Dreaming.”

He gave it a moment to let it sink in and was content to look into those sad eyes in the meantime.

“Really?” It sounded feeble and unsure and so damn hopeful that it hurt.

“Really.”

“But-“

Howard shook his head. “No buts. I meant what I said, Tony. I _am_ an idiot. And you know why? Because I threw all those proverbs, all those mottos at you without understanding them properly myself. And I couldn’t because I missed an important part of the picture.”

He certainly had the boy’s attention now. He folded his hands and leaned them onto the edge of the mattress while he edged a bit closer.

“I want you to listen very closely now. And hear me out, okay? Never show weakness to others. Don’t show them that you’re unwell or hurt. That’s true. It is a cruel world out there and there’re too many people in it who would shamelessly exploit that. They’d use it against you or to hurt you further. That’s especially important since we’re Starks. We’re in the public eye, you and your mother just as much as me. The world out there is full of hungry sharks that are waiting for us to stumble so they can make a story out of it or worse. But we’re Starks. We’re made of iron. We can do this. We can life with this weight upon our shoulders without breaking. We’re strong. Okay?”

He heard a shuffling from behind, no doubt Jarvis contemplating if he should intervene.

Tony nodded softly, his face carefully schooled into a brave and stoic mask that was just wrong on a child his age.

“But the truth is: everyone is weak from time to time. They’re hurt or tired, frightened or sick.” He raised his hand to wipe away the tear tracks on the side of his face that was visible. “Or sad.”

“Even-“ Tony bit his lip, clearly sorry for interrupting.

“Even?” he asked, encouraging him to speak up.

“Even Captain America?”

Howard had to smile. “Even Captain America, yes.” He really needed to tell the boy about Steve. _Really_ telling him about Steve, not just putting him on an unreachable pedestal, but showing Tony that he’d also just been a human being. A righteous one with a good heart, but human nonetheless.

“And-,“ again the boy hesitated before he whispered almost too low for him to catch, “you, too?”

This time he couldn’t help but huff a quiet laugh. “Especially me! It’s normal. It’s human to be weak sometimes. And for those times you have us. You have your mother and you have me and you have Jarvis. With us you can always be yourself, Tony. If you’re sad you can cry. If you’re hurting or afraid you can tell us. We won’t judge you and we will always have your back, no matter what. Yes, showing weakness in public or with people you don’t completely trust is a bad idea. But to be able to be strong out there you need a place where you can let go and just be the way you are. I never told you that before and I’m sorry for that. I should have.”

Fresh tears were rolling over the boy’s flushed cheeks. “Do you- mean that?”

He nodded solemnly. “Every word of it.”

More tears welled up and his lips were quivering, but he slowly lifted his head out of the pillow he’d been hiding in. A small success. Howard smiled fondly and cupped his son’s cheek with his hand, wiping away the tears in the process.

_I just don’t want to see you get hurt, son. And I’m so sorry that in the process I hurt you more than anyone else ever could._

“Now, how about you get some sleep, huh?”

The boy sniffed and actually managed a small smile before he nodded and closed his eyes. Only to jerk up a few seconds later, eyes wide. He started to say something but his frantic breathing at whatever had come to his mind so suddenly was triggering yet another coughing fit. He tensed and sank back down where he shook with his hands pressed against his chest and tears forming in his eyes again. Howard placed his hand on his back to rub it in soothing circles, he felt helpless and pity for the boy and still absolutely horrified that he’d simply told him to harden up.

When it finally subsided, the boy took two shuddering breaths then relaxed again, exhausted. And yet he looked up and wheezed: “The test. We’re having a test in two days. What about that. I can’t miss-“

“Hey, shh,” Howard started and gently pulled the blanket back in place around his son’s shoulders. “Forget about the test. It’s needless, anyway.” He chuckled at the puzzled expression on Tony’s face and tapped his index finger against the boy’s nose two times. “You’re already way too clever for your teachers.”

The surprise at this unexpected – and unusual – praise came first but it soon gave way too prideful glee and the most beautiful smile he’d seen since the very first his son had ever given him as a baby. And he knew that it would be okay. It would take time to undo all the damage he’d done and he’d have to constantly work on himself but this smile showed him that he hadn’t completely fucked up.

And it showed him what waited for him if he did this right.

Again he raised his hand to caress Tony’s cheek then lifted it further and stroked it through his hair as he remembered that the boy liked that. His eyes were drooping. The exertion of leaving the bed in his condition plus the emotional strain finally took their toll on him.

“Alright, now that that’s settled, you should really rest. And when you’re well again you can tell me more about that plan of yours to make the car fly. We could- finish it together. Only if you want to, of course. It’s your project after all.”

His son gave him another beaming smile, although a tired one. “Mhm.”

Tony closed his eyes.

Howard leaned forward and softly kissed his clammy forehead. “Sleep well, Tony.”

He sank back onto his heels and sighed, running a shaky hand through his own hair. There was chaos in his mind. Facing all his wrong-doings in the form of his son’s insecurities. And then all the things he’d seen and experienced in that strange dream-hallucination-thing. It was hard to take it all in, to figure out what had _actually_ happened and if any of it had been real. But that was a task for another day.

The crazy mix of guilt and self-hatred and fear and joy and hope that currently ran through his veins left him in a state he couldn’t even describe. Shaken and blissful. Hurt and intoxicated. Weary and sanguine. All at the same time.

_I can set this right again. And I will._

_For him. For us both._

Careful to not make any noise he pushed his protesting body up from the floor, one hand on the mattress as leverage. He really wasn’t 30 anymore.

A small hand grabbed his all of a sudden. Surprised he looked down to see Tony blinking against the overpowering exhaustion. He looked so vulnerable in that moment, somehow even more so than before. Sick and small and frightened and above all else insecure.

“Please stay.”

The lump in his throat was back and swallowing didn’t help. He blinked a few times, unsure if he’d win the war against the tears that threatened to break free. He did, but barely.

Without hesitation he sat back down. On the bed. His knees were protesting against another round on the floor, plushy rug or not.

“Of course. I’ll stay until you’re asleep if you want me to.”

He’d thought to see the content smile again and slowly drooping eyes, instead Tony’s face fell and the small trembling of his lips told him that he wasn’t far away from crying.

_What did I do this time? I thought he wanted me to- Oh. OH!_

He had completely forgotten about that.

“You meant Slovenia. I won’t go, Tony. I’ll stay.”

For a moment there was absolute silence.

“Promise?”

Howard grinned, happy to see that contented smile again. “Promise!”

Tony’s eyes slipped closed and this time they stayed that way.

He got up and leaned down to kiss his forehead one last time – “Love you!” – before he quietly left.

 

 

The moment he closed the door he felt his presence already. Jarvis was there, waiting. It didn’t surprise him.

The man in question stood there in the hallway, posture straight as always, even at his age. And not one of his gray hairs was out of place. His lips, however, were pressed into a thin line which was never a good sign and his brow was furrowed in a skeptical way. His tense shoulders practically screamed his apprehension into the world and there was no mistaking his determined gaze for anything other than protectiveness.

“Tell me you didn’t lie to the boy!” Howard almost chuckled in his relief to finally hear a predictable reaction after everything. And silent amusement at his butler. He’d never heard Jarvis address him this informal, without calling him “Sir” and forgoing politeness by phrasing a demand instead of plea. “It would break his heart, especially now after-“

His butler was actually at a loss for words. He couldn’t hold it against him. Instead he saved him by speaking up himself.

“I wasn’t lying!” he said with emphasis and every bit of seriousness he could muster – which was a lot after everything he’d been through.

But nevertheless, he was also Howard Stark and finally home and he had a mission, so-

“Enough with the loitering and back on topic! I need you to call S.H.I.E.L.D. and tell them they need to keep that plane on the ground for a little while longer. And you can unpack my bag again, Jarvis, I won’t need it. And get me a drink. I _really_ need a drink right now. And together with that drink I’d like to know exactly what Dr. Palmers has said about Tony.”

He’d started heading along the hallway and down the stairs during his to-do-list. The startled butler followed him suit. “In the meantime I need to find a replacement for that trip to Slovenia. They won’t be happy, that’s for sure and I hate to give up the chance to examine that artifact, but I guess that’s something we’ll all just have to live with. Maybe Luengo? He’s good with radiation and cautious enough to not cause a disaster. And I need to call Obie. If Tony isn’t getting better by the end of the week I might need him to jump in for awhile longer. Can’t hurt to plunge him in at the deep end to test his skills. Don’t think he’ll mind, though.”

They had reached his office during his animated monologue – whatever weird journey his mind had been on these last hours it had finally allowed his body to rest and refuel.

His suitcase stood in front of his desk, a fresh suit was neatly hung up on a file cabinet to his left and his briefcase lay open at the side of his desk. Just like Jarvis had told him. Yet the only thing he cared about at the moment was the phone.

Before he could do more than grab the receiver the sound of someone clearing his throat made him pause. It was Jarvis, of course. He seemed strangely out of place, staying there in the middle of the room, with his fingers tapping nervously against his thighs and that frown on his face.

“Excuse me, Sir, this might be way out of line, but- what has gotten into you? You’ve-“ he licked his lips, searching for words again. “You’ve _changed_.”

_That’s one way of putting it._

He raised an eyebrow, pondering how much he should disclose. Obviously that story would only made his butler freak out more than he already had – by his standards of course, which meant nervous blinking and tapping, general fidgeting and a sudden onset of stammering.

“Don’t get me wrong, Sir. I don’t mean that in a bad way. Quite the contrary. It’s a good thing. It’s just- I’ve never seen you _care_ for your son since- well, a long time ago. It caught me by surprise. You’re not planning on changing back any time soon I hope? For the sake of the boy I mean.“

Although those words hurt him as much as they amused him – the first part at least – he was pleased by his friend’s frankness. Other people might view such an address from an employee as an audacity and grounds for dismissal but he wasn’t other people.

“I’m not planning on letting Tony down. I cannot promise to never fail him again, I’m far from perfect and I know I’ll mess something up eventually, but I will do the best I can to be the father he deserves from now on!”

Jarvis looked stunned, standing there, just staring ahead. “What happened, Sir?”

Howard hadn’t managed to make his butler this flustered in a very, very long time. Maybe he’d share the whole story one day. When he’d figured it out himself. _If_ he’ll figure it out. But not right now.

“Let’s just say, I got my eyes opened by some old friends. And I remembered something that I should’ve never forgotten in the first place. Thanks to you, my friend.”

“Me, Sir? I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

A cheeky smile spread across his lips, one of his trademark grins, but interlaced with fondness. “I didn’t expect you to. Now, off we go! We’ve got work to do! And I want to be back at Tony’s bed by the time he wakes up again!”

 

TBC


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did Howard really change?  
> What better way to find out than take a look at Tony...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being interested in this story. For reading, leaving kudos and comments. Is has been a great week and I hope you'll like my conclusion as well.

  


Pepper popped another grape into her mouth while checking her emails on the laptop she was currently balancing on her lap. Quiet music was playing in the background. It was late afternoon, not a time she was usually home, but after a week of board meetings and preparing the annual Stark Industries Gala next weekend she’d deserved at least one night off. So here she was, sitting cross-legged on the couch of their new living room in the rebuilt and revised Avengers’ Tower. Still in her tanktop and leggings from her earlier yoga session. And still – or again – working. Maybe she should’ve stayed in her office judging by the amount of new emails in her inbox.

With a resigned sigh she blindly ripped of another grape from the panicle and popped it into her mouth. The doors of the private elevator opened with a soft swish and Tony trudged out of it, grimacing and rubbing the back of his neck.

“I thought you said you’d be in the workshop for the foreseeable future and that I should take a long last look,” she waved her hand in his general direction, “at all that glory because I wouldn’t get another glimpse of it until at least tomorrow morning. So, what changed?”

He crossed the room and the closer he got the surer she was that something was up. His shoulders slumped and he looked pale. But most of all, he hadn’t reacted to her teasing yet. Tony practically fell onto the couch next to her and leaned his head back against the cushion.

“I feel like shit.”

She scrunched up her face in sympathy. “You don’t look too hot, either.”

He turned his head towards her as if it was the most arduous task he’d ever done and eyed her, huffy. “Thanks. Is that a way to treat a man when he’s already down? I’m suffering here and you make fun of me. That’s mean, you know.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. At least now she knew that it wasn’t _that_ bad. Well, bad enough that he stopped working on his own accord but not bad enough to stop him from acting childish. She lifted her hand to his face and laid it on his forehead.

“JARVIS says I run a fever,” he mumbled.

“Yeah, you certainly do. Anything else I should know of?”

He shrugged. “Headache. Sore throat. Storybook cold I’d say.“

„Then let’s make sure it has no chance of progressing into something worse. Come on, off to bed,” she said while putting her laptop aside and standing up.

Tony raised one eyebrow and put on a lopsided grin, albeit only with some effort. “Is that a command? Will you get out the whip if I don’t cooperate?”

“Yeah, and I’ll also handcuff you to the bed frame if necessary.”

The effect of his answering leer was lost when standing up made him sway and grip his head with a pained expression. She sent him off to the bedroom – this time he didn’t argue – and went to get some advil and a glass of water and make him a cup of tea.

When she finally got into the bedroom JARVIS had tinted the windows, so that it was dim enough to sleep but light enough to find one’s way easily. Tony was curled up in their bed, wrapped tightly into the large blanket and with his head upon her pillow. He followed her every movement with his eyes until their gaze fixed onto the cup.

“Tea?”

She nodded. „And something for your head.“

He took the pills without objection and downed them with the water while she placed the tea on the nightstand. That’s when he sniffed the air and grimaced.

“Do you want to poison me?” he asked in mock outrage before he made retching sounds. “Seriously, that creepy herbal stuff smells as bad as Barton’s worn socks. And it tastes even worse.”

She sighed, but decided to be civil. He _was_ sick after all. “Well, I _could_ make you a different one if you asked nicely.”

Of course instead of acting his age he pouted at her and hugged the pillow closer. “You’d leave me all alone? But I’m sick. You can’t leave me alone when I’m sick!“

Really, sometimes she wasn’t sure if he was 44 or just four. She looked up, praying for strength, although, given all the things he’d put her through already – deliberately and inadvertently – this was merely a mild annoyance. Almost a cute one if she was honest with herself. But someone had to be a responsible adult here.

“JARVIS, are you sure he’s actually sick?”

“Judging by his increase in whining, he is, Miss Potts,” the A.I. answered promptly and made her giggle.

“Oy!” Tony protested, but JARVIS ignored him.

“Apart from that his heart-rate is slightly elevated and his temperature is currently at 101F.”

“See?” Tony said and looked at her with his best puppy-dog eyes. And she felt herself starting to melt. She’d never had any problems withstanding that look before they started dating but ever since her immunity seemed to slowly fade away.

“Sir, there’s a call from Captain Rogers,” JARVIS informed them and Tony got up a bit and leaned onto one elbow.

“Put him through.”

The next moment one of the concealed screens in the wall lit up and showed Steve who was just pulling his cap over his head. “Tony, suit up. Nat called. She finally found some clues about the whereabouts of… are you alright?”

Tony squinted at the bright screen, flinching against the harsh light in the process. With a sigh he ran his hand first through his hair and then across his face. “Not really. You think you can do this one without me? I’m not sure if I’d be any help given how slow my brain works right now.”

Steve laughed. “We’re not completely helpless without you, you know?” Then he got sober again. “Seriously, Tony, we got this. Get some rest.”

The connection cut off and the screen turned off again. “That’s my cue I guess,” Pepper said. Before she even got the chance to say anything else Tony was cuddling into her pillow again, whining. Only this time it wasn’t just his usual childish banter, there was something else underneath it. She just couldn’t put her finger on what exactly.

“Do you really have to go?”

“I’ve still got some work to do.”

“You could read me a story instead.” Was he serious? Well, knowing _him_ he probably was.

“Dad always read me a story when I was sick.”

Pepper huffed out a laugh. “In case you haven’t noticed: I’m not your father, Tony.”

His eyes widened in mock-shock. “Really?”

That actually made her laugh. Despite everything, no matter how childish or insufferable he was, sooner or later he always managed to make her laugh. She loved him for that. And she went along with it, leaned down a bit and put her hand against his forehead again.

“Wow, that fever of yours must cause hallucinations already.”

He grinned cheekily which seemed slightly off due to his exhausted expression underneath. “Better do something about it before I start calling you ‘Dad’ in my delirium.”

“Alright, but I know something better than reading you a story.” That got his interest. “How about I’ll finish my work later and-“ She sat down on the mattress and pulled her legs up. “Move over!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Pepper stole his pillow and placed it in her back then leaned against the headboard and beckoned him closer. “And you’ll get your own private cuddly pillow?”

Tony smiled, none of his lewd smiles or his big, flashy media smiles. A real one. A fond one. He crawled closer, raising up, clearly with the intention to kiss her, but thought better of it at the last moment, mumbling something about “contagious” and lay down. He cuddled up against her side with his head placed on her belly, one of his arms resting over her thighs – his hand snuggled up against the side of her hip – and his knees touching her lower legs. It was a bit warm underneath the blanket but she didn’t mind.

“Still think I’m your Dad?”

“Definitely.“

“Tony!” She exclaimed, slapping her hand lightly against his shoulder, trying to stifle her laughs. “That’s not funny.”

She felt him softly shake against her with stifled laughter. Next thing she knew his hand was sneaking around her hip to the curve of her ass, groping her.

“This is way better than you reading a story,” he mumbled.

She had to grin against her will. That was Tony to a tee. And she loved it.

He snuggled a bit closer and let out a contented sigh. Pepper raised her hand to stroke his hair. She knew how much he loved that. And she knew he’d be asleep in seconds, finally resting and hopefully feeling better in the morning.

 

 END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Coulsonspetwolf:  
> Sorry, no flying car model. Should I ever think about writing "outtakes" to this story, the building of this model will certainly be one of them :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!
> 
> As always, your opinion is highly appreciated! :)


End file.
